


The Distance Between Us

by LadySokolov



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bittersweet, Bloodplay, Codependency, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Relationship Issues, Sexual Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 08:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11733141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySokolov/pseuds/LadySokolov
Summary: Suddenly it all fell into place; the pleasant numbing of his pain whenever Dettlaff was near, the soothing, life-giving liquid that Dettlaff had been feeding him that had resembled blood in the same way a rich Sansretour red resembled a pint of cheap ale served in the seediest inn in Velen. Regis knew how it was that Dettlaff had managed to save his life.“You bound yourself to me,” Regis murmured, barely able to believe it.An examination of Regis and Dettlaff's relationship, before, during and after Blood and Wine.





	The Distance Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Because I refuse to acknowledge any version of Blood and Wine that does not end with Dettlaff still alive, and because I have far too many feelings regarding Dettlaff and Regis. 
> 
> Also, I should probably warn everyone that this fic gets a little... well... strange in places. Do not expect Dettlaff and Regis's relationship to look exactly like a healthy human one.

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US

At first there was nothing but blessed darkness. Regis had known right then that it would be the end of him. There was only so much that a vampire could recover from after all, even one as powerful as himself, and Vilgefortz had already proven how wickedly intelligent he could be. There was no doubt in Regis’s mind that the sorcerer would think of some way to stop Regis from being able to regenerate for a very, very long time.

And so Regis drifted into nothingness, worried only about what should happen to his companions in his absence, and how many centuries would pass before he would be truly conscious again, capable of feeling the wind or the rain on his skin.

And then there was nothing at all…

* * *

Then pain; searing, blinding pain like white hot fire, like the first time he had experienced the bright rays of the sun only a thousand times worse, like his soul being dragged across red hot coals.

He had felt this once before, only the last time his body had been smothered by cold dirt and everything had been still and silent. This time he felt the soft brush of wind against what was left of him, and even that was like silver nails burying themselves under his skin. He wasn’t even sure that he had skin yet.

Had it really been so painful last time? Surely it couldn’t have been. How could anyone survive such pain?

He couldn’t scream yet, couldn’t even whimper. He couldn’t see and could only vaguely hear, and even that was distorted and broken. He had no concept of time. It all stretched out, one long, never-ending struggle, but occasionally he would hear someone talking to him, low, muffled assurances that seemed to dull the pain, if only for a moment.

As he recovered more he realized that he knew that voice. It was somehow familiar to him, and more than that, it was safe and sweet; soothing, like cold water on broken, burning skin.

Hands that did not hurt as much as they perhaps should have cradled him gently, checking his recovery and prompting him to eat and drink once he was able. Mostly the wonderful person that helped Regis fed him a thick, sweet liquid that was the most delicious, refreshing thing Regis had ever tasted. He could feel it spreading life throughout his body; feel his every muscle and bone soak up the life-giving liquid as though he somehow knew it was the only possible thing that could save him.

As he grew slightly more aware Regis began to worry about that liquid. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was blood, although it tasted even more amazing that he remembered, and he did not seem to be experiencing the same wondrous high that had led to his addiction in the first place, although perhaps that had less to do with what he was consuming and more to do with his current pitiable state.

He tried to object, tried to shove the blood away whenever it was offered to him, but whoever was feeding it to him did not seem at all worried by Regis’s clawing and hissing. At this stage Regis was starting to be able to see again, although his vision was still rather blurry, and he was still having trouble thinking straight.

Someone that smelled and felt like safety sat down on the side of the nest Regis was cradled in and held Regis’s face gently in one large, clawed hand.

“Hush,” they murmured. “It will be all right. It is only my blood Regis. Only mine. You have nothing to fear…”

The words did not make any sense to him then, but he let the gentle, soothing tone of them relax him and he lay back down on the pile of blankets and furs. His caretaker pressed some of the sweet liquid to Regis’s mouth once more and despite everything in Regis’s mind that said he shouldn’t partake; he couldn’t partake and keep a hold on his sanity; part of him knew that he needed that blood if he wanted to recover. The conundrum was tearing him apart. He didn’t know what to do.

“I would never feed you human blood,” the sweet, safe voice told him. “Not unless you asked me to. You need not worry about that.”

Regis did not say anything, but it seemed that he did not need to for his savior to understand. The other person leaned over, their forehead pressing against Regis’s own in a calming, affectionate gesture.

“Please drink,” the beautiful voice said. “For me? I want you to recover quickly. I do not like seeing you in such pain.”

Regis drank, and something inside him felt lighter.

“Good,” the voice whispered against the skin of Regis’s forehead.

* * *

Regis would have guessed that it was only a few days later, but considering the state of his mind, it might have been weeks or even months, when he finally opened his eyes and actually recognized who it was that had been taking care of him.

“Dettlaff?” he muttered the other vampire’s name.

Regis hadn’t seen him for years. They had crossed paths plenty of times over the course of his long life and Regis had always found Dettlaff van der Eretein to be intelligent, agreeable and kind, if a little too prone towards emotional extremes. The other vampire was also quite reclusive, not mingling with other higher vampires nearly as much as many of their kindred did.

Regis had also thought that Dettlaff might be one of only a few higher vampires who might be susceptible to Regis’s school of thought regarding humans and the need to live with them in harmony. After all, Dettlaff had never been one for drinking human blood, even when the rest of them had been young and foolishly wasting their lives away drinking the stuff.

After Regis had given up blood for good he had approached Dettlaff several times and tried to encourage him to view humans as intelligent and thoughtful beings. It had even, as far as Regis could tell, worked somewhat, and the last time he had talked to Dettlaff the man had been in the beginning stages of a mutual infatuation with a human woman Dettlaff had called Rhena.

And yet Dettlaff was here with him now, gently and slowly nursing Regis back to health, and Rhena was nowhere to be seen.

That was a conversation for another time though.

Dettlaff moved over to sit on the edge of the nest as soon as he realized Regis was awake. There were still plenty of wounds on Regis’s body and it would undoubtedly be a long time before he had recovered completely, but he was reasonably sure he was in the clear now, although how Dettlaff had come to save him was beyond Regis’s understanding.

“What…?” he murmured as he ran a hand over the still-healing skin on his arm. “How did you…”

“I couldn’t let you die,” Dettlaff replied simply.

He pressed a hand to the back of Regis’s head and brought it forward so that they were pressing their foreheads against one another’s. It was a sign of great affection among higher vampires, equal perhaps to a kiss or an embrace amongst humans, and one that Regis had not experienced for quite a long time.

He hummed in pleasure and nuzzled back against the other vampire, although truth be told he hadn’t realized that Dettlaff cared for him enough to warrant such a gesture. Admittedly they  _had_  been through a lot together over the last…

Regis realized then that he had no idea how long it was that Dettlaff had been taking care of him.

“How long have I…”

“It’s been just over two years since I found you,” Dettlaff answered. “I do not know how long you had been trapped before then, but I think it must have been no more than a few months.”

“Two years!” Regis gasped.

He should have died. He should not have been able to recover from what Vilgefortz had done, no matter how much dedication Dettlaff had shown, and he certainly shouldn’t have been able to recover almost completely in such a short amount of time. The last time he had come back from death it had taken him fifty years to regenerate, and that first time the destruction had not been quite so complete as that which Vilgefortz had visited upon him.

“How…?” he murmured. “How did you…?”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Dettlaff said. He reached out with one clawed hand and gently caressed the side of Regis’s face. It was nicer than such a simple gesture probably should have been, and Regis suddenly realized how tired he still was.

“You just worry about getting better,” Dettlaff said. “I’ll worry about everything else.”

“Thank you,” Regis murmured, before he found that he had exhausted what little energy he had, and settled in to sleep once more.

* * *

The next time he awoke it was to the feeling of that sweet, thick liquid coating his lips and dripping down the back of his throat. Now that he was more aware of everything he could tell that his earlier fears had been completely unfounded; whatever Dettlaff was feeding him, it was most definitely not human blood. It was too rich and strong and life-giving for that. Perhaps some sort of potion that used animal or monster blood as a base?

He was still curious as to how it was that Dettlaff had managed to save his life. By all calculations such a thing should have been impossible.

He opened his eyes to find Dettlaff leaning over him, his hand slowly pulling away from Regis as though Dettlaff was trying his hardest not to disturb him. Regis smiled up at him and licked the last of the sweet brew from his lips.

He felt his heart glow as he stared up at the other vampire. He put the feeling down to gratitude and simple relief. He should have died, but he had not, and it was all thanks to the intelligent, passionate and devoted vampire hovering over him.

“Dettlaff,” he whispered, his voice still rather weak and broken.

“Regis,” Dettlaff replied with a smile of his own. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better,” Regis replied. “Help me sit up?”

Dettlaff hurried to comply, and soon Regis was sitting upright with a pile of furs and blankets at his back.

He groaned as he tried to settle into them in a way that was mostly comfortable. He still felt awful, but he had a feeling that it would have been substantially worse if Dettlaff had not been there.

“I am rather curious about something,” Regis began. “How was it that you managed to save me? I should have died, and even if that wasn’t the case the fact that I’ve regenerated almost completely in such a short time is miraculous.”

Dettlaff would not look him in the eye, and Regis realized he was hiding something. Well… not hiding something exactly; it was not in Dettlaff’s nature to be deliberately deceitful; but it was clear there was something he did not want to talk about, something that he had done that Regis might not approve of. Regis could not think of what it might be. He could think of no method at all that would allow one to regenerate so swiftly, or at least, no method that Dettlaff would actually consider using.

Some part of Regis was growing worried. A voice that he did not think was his own whispered in feelings rather than words inside of his mind and heart.

(Worry… Concern… Hesitation… No, no, no I don’t want to talk about this yet… He needs to rest more… don’t want him to worry… Don’t want him to grow  _angry_ … What if he’s upset?) 

It was as though Regis could feel a second heartbeat alongside his own, one that had thrummed anxiously when Regis had begun to speak.

Suddenly it all fell into place; the pleasant numbing of his pain whenever Dettlaff was near, the soothing, life-giving liquid that Dettlaff had been feeding him that had resembled blood in the same way a rich Sansretour red resembled a pint of cheap ale served in the seediest inn in Velen. Regis knew how it was that Dettlaff had managed to save his life.

“You bound yourself to me,” Regis murmured, barely able to believe it. 

True, Dettlaff had always been passionate, prone to expressing his emotions through rather more impulsive and extreme gestures than most that Regis had met, but he never would have guessed that Dettlaff might go to such extreme lengths in order to save him. Dettlaff had fed Regis some of his own blood, binding their bodies and souls together. It was risky and foolish and Regis did not think that he was worth it, and was astounded that Dettlaff had apparently decided otherwise.

“You are not upset by my decision?” Dettlaff eventually asked. It was half a question, half already established disbelief. Neither of them quite knew how being blood-brothers was supposed to work, but Regis theorized that Dettlaff would have, by now, sensed it if the news had upset Regis. Dettlaff seemed surprised that it hadn’t.

“I am a little concerned,” Regis replied. “If things had gone wrong you could have died trying to save me. Dettlaff, I’m not worth that.”

There was sorrow over their bond then, or an echo of it, and Dettlaff placed his hand on Regis’s cheek as though to comfort him.

(Don’t say you are not worth it…) Regis imagined the bond would say if it was made of actual words. (You _are_ worth it…)

“I am not upset though,” Regis continued. “Far from it. I am honored, truly. Touched. Barely able to believe that you would choose to do something like this for me.”

He lay back down in the nest, finding that he had had used up all of his strength just with that simple conversation.

Dettlaff hovered over him and Regis could feel the other vampire’s concern flowing over their newly formed bond. He wondered how much they would be able to feel each other, and whether it would only work this strongly when they were in close proximity. Such a bond was so rare that even in his own long life he had only met a few vampires that had forged one, and he had never really talked to any of them about it. After all, he had assumed that he himself would never have reason to consider such a bond, and yet here he was, lying in another’s nest and slowly recovering all because his friend… no, his _blood-brother_ Dettlaff would rather bind himself to Regis for all of eternity and spend years playing nursemaid than simply allow Regis to slip away.

He never could have anticipated that Dettlaff, or any vampire for that matter, might care so strongly about him.

Dettlaff leaned over him and pressed one hand gently to the side of Regis’s neck. The touch hurt, just as any touch still hurt his still-healing body, and yet Regis still found himself leaning into Dettlaff’s hand, craving more of his touch and attention.

Dettlaff’s hand moved up, over Regis’s chin and to his mouth. His thumb pressed against lips that had not finished healing.

“Here,” Dettlaff urged, ever-so-gently pressing Regis’s lips back. 

Regis could sense his blood-brother’s pulse, thrumming through him and giving him life, and found that he craved it, not with the fierce, desperate need that he had craved human blood when he was at his worst, but as a tired, lonely man might crave sleep in the arms of another. His heart sang at the thought of tasting Dettlaff’s blood again.

“You should feed,” Dettlaff said. “You still have a lot of healing ahead of you.”

Regis bit down on the tip of the other vampire’s thumb, the thought of doing this sort of thing with another vampire sending a thrill throughout his body, despite how strongly his mind objected to the idea. The liquid ran into his mouth, every single drop of it precious and sweet, ambrosial and almost overwhelming in its intensity. He wondered what it would be like to feed right from Dettlaff’s neck. As weak as he was at that moment, that much probably  _would_  have overwhelmed him. Just imagining it sent shivers down his back.

As it was he sucked greedily at Dettlaff’s thumb, relishing every single drop that his savior would allow him. When the blood stopped flowing as swiftly he bit down again, one of his fangs sinking deep into the other vampire’s flesh. Dettlaff did not complain or even let out a single sound of displeasure.

Regis looked up to find Dettlaff staring at him with a strange, faraway look on his face. By the standards of any vampire the tiny cuts and puncture wounds that Regis had left on Dettlaff’s fingers were a small wound, nothing more than a minor inconvenience that would heal almost as soon as Regis stopped suckling, but the experience still could not have been a pleasant or painless one.

Regis wondered what it felt like to Dettlaff; whether their bond was perhaps dampening any pain that the other vampire might feel, or whether the pleasure Dettlaff was receiving through the bond might simply be enough to make up for it by itself. Come to think of it, whatever pain Dettlaff was experiencing was miniscule enough that Regis could not feel it at all beneath the burning and throbbing of his own flesh.

There was probably a lot about this new bond that Regis and Dettlaff would have to grow used to. He supposed they would just have to figure it all out by themselves as they went.

* * *

After that day Dettlaff took to sleeping in the same nest as him. Regis did not know whether it was concerns over Regis’s health or concerns over whether or not Regis would be comfortable with their bond that had kept him from doing so until then.

Apparently Dettlaff had slept beside the main nest with a few blankets and pillows of his own before then. Now he usually slept with at least one arm thrown over Regis’s shoulders or waist, their faces usually resting only inches apart from one another. Regis often fell asleep to the soft sound of Dettlaff’s breathing, and the feeling of his blood-brother’s arms wrapped around him. It was pleasant, comfortable in a way very few things in his life had ever been, and Regis found himself hoping that they might be able to continue such an arrangement after he had healed. Perhaps he could even convince Dettlaff to buy a large human bed as well. It was one human invention that Regis agreed with wholeheartedly; all that soft, cushiony down or wool.

Not that their nest wasn’t the most comfortable place in the world, although Regis suspected that had less to do with the pile of blankets and pillows and furs and more to do with the person he shared them with. 

Now that Regis was healing properly and Dettlaff’s anxieties regarding their bond had been put to rest, there was something growing between them that felt a lot like love, but which the word love could not fully encapsulate. Dettlaff was a part of Regis now and being with him, near him, felt as natural as breathing. He worried how he would cope when Dettlaff inevitably stopped spending so much time attending to him. Would he crave the other man’s touch as he once had blood? There was a whisper of something else in their bond as well; a craving and a hunger of a different sort. It was only a whisper however, and was so drowned out by simple adoration and affection that Regis knew it would still be some time before they addressed it, which was fine by him. They had the rest of forever to figure it all out.

* * *

It wasn’t long before Regis was able to stand up and walk around. He still needed Dettlaff’s assistance, and had a feeling that he would for quite a long time. It would still be many months before it would be safe enough for him to leave their crypt, and probably years still before he regained his full strength.

When he finally thought to ask he discovered that their crypt was located in the depths of the Blue Mountains, miles away from where Vilgefortz had ‘killed’ him.

“I needed to get you away from there,” Dettlaff explained. “I didn’t know what had happened, just that someone had tried very hard to kill you.”

Regis told Dettlaff what he could. When Regis reached his account of Vilgefortz’s attempt to kill him Dettlaff’s fangs and claws extended, giving Regis the distinct impression that if it wasn’t for the fact that Regis still needed the other vampire’s help, Dettlaff might fly off and track down the sorcerer on his own and attempt to rip him limb from limb.

“Hush my dear,” he murmured, walking unsteadily over to Dettlaff and wrapping his arms around him. “Thanks to you Vilgefortz did not succeed.”

He worried though, about Geralt and Milva and Dandelion and the others. What had happened to his friends while he had been recovering? When he expressed his worries to Dettlaff the other vampire just smiled gently, ushered Regis back to their nest and prompted him to lay down.

“Don’t you worry,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to Regis’s forehead. It was a strangely human gesture coming from the other vampire, and Regis wondered if he had the wonderful Rhena to thank for such an action. It was sweet, and it almost distracted him from what he had been trying to find out. Almost.

“But Geralt…” Regis murmured in protest.

“Rest,” Dettlaff murmured. “I will find out what happened to your friends.”

* * *

The next time Regis awoke he discovered that their den was full of katakans, fleders and even a couple of bruxae. Dettlaff was talking to one of them quietly, probably trying to avoid waking Regis if possible. Regis lay still and watched his blood-brother interact with the other vampires. He had known for a long time that Dettlaff cared for the lesser vampires as much, or perhaps even more, than he did his fellow high vampires. Even as Regis lay there he could feel a strong sense of peace and calm coming from Dettlaff’s side of the bond as he interacted with the other creatures.

One of the katakans perked up and looked around Dettlaff and straight at Regis. He smiled at the katakan, who chittered excitedly. Dettlaff noticed the katakan’s behavior and turned around to face Regis.

“Hello,” Regis murmured, which was all he needed to say for Dettlaff to come running back over to check on him, a half dozen other vampires following in his wake.

“I’m sorry Regis,” Dettlaff murmured. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“It’s quite all right,” Regis told him. “Who are your friends?”

And then Dettlaff told him, the katakans adding in a word or two of their own from time to time. The one who had noticed Regis waking was extremely humble and liked to point out whenever Dettlaff was exaggerating how helpful they had been. Regis liked him.

Dettlaff had sent the other vampires out into the world to find out what had happened to Regis’s friends. A particularly alluring bruxa had managed to discover that by all reports Geralt of Rivia and Dandelion the bard were still alive, although there had been some doubt about Geralt of Rivia for a while. There was some debate over Cirilla, but it sounded as though she was still alive also, if completely unaccounted for by most people. As for the rest there was no good news to be found; Cahir, Milva and Angoulême had all fallen in the battle which should have claimed Regis’s life. There was _some_ good news at least; Vilgefortz had been killed. Had he not then Regis would have gone after the sorcerer himself.

Heedless to Regis’s grief and anger, the lesser vampires continued to chatter, explaining that they had been the ones to bring Regis and Dettlaff food and supplies during the months when Dettlaff was too weak and too busy caring for Regis to leave and search for it himself. Regis thanked them as politely as he could, while all the while he focused on keeping his grief locked away as tightly as possible, at least until there were not so many witnesses. The lesser vampires would not understand that he needed to grieve for a group of humans. How could they?

They continued to chatter, telling Regis of how carefully and diligently Dettlaff had cared for him. Regis nodded and smiled and continued to be as polite as possible.

It was Dettlaff who finally ushered them away. Regis’s blood-brother kept glancing over at him, and Regis understood that Dettlaff could sense his grief; knew that Regis was putting up a brave front, but that it would only be a matter of time before he broke down.

The katakans and other lesser vampires had only been gone from their den for a matter of minutes when the grief took hold of Regis. He curled up, screaming and sobbing and cursing his own inability to save those that he had cared for. Dettlaff immediately moved to his side, wrapping his arms around Regis and letting his blood-brother bury his face in the curve of the other vampire’s neck.

Regis’s heart hurt. He had already come to learn that one danger of caring for humans was that they would inevitably die far sooner than you were willing to let go of them. He had not expected that their acquaintance would be cut short quite so quickly however. How was it fair? He should have been there. He should have been able to save them all.

And through it all; through the sorrow and rage and damnable feelings of incompetence, Dettlaff was there, both physically and on the other side of the bond, giving Regis what comfort he could.

(I am here… I am here… I do not know what I can offer you except for this, but I am here… Please don’t be sad…. Please, I am here… I don’t want you to be sad but I do not know what more I can do for you…)

Eventually every scream and tear had been exorcised from Regis’s body, leaving nothing but exhaustion and numbness in its wake. He fed from his blood-brother, at Dettlaff’s insistence, and the two of them lay down in the nest together, a tangle of limbs and claws and old blankets and furs.

“Do you want me to seek vengeance on your behalf?” Dettlaff asked as he ran one clawed hand gently down the side of Regis’s arm.

“No,” Regis replied. “They said that Vilgefortz is dead. As therapeutic as vengeance might be, I am afraid there is no-one left that I might get vengeance on.”

“Is there anything else that you need?” Dettlaff asked.

“No,” Regis replied, allowing himself to close his eyes and simply enjoy the feeling of Dettlaff’s gentle touches. “Perhaps, when I am feeling better I will seek out Geralt and Dandelion. The fact that they survived is a small mercy at least.”

“Not yet though,” Dettlaff said. The words were accompanied by a fierce burst of overprotectiveness. “You must stay here and rest until you are fully recovered.”

“Of course,” Regis murmured.

The gentle feeling of Dettlaff’s hand caressing the skin on Regis’s arms continued, and eventually the exhaustion that had crept in when Regis was done with his grief overwhelmed him, and he fell asleep in his blood-brother’s arms.

* * *

When he next awoke Regis discovered that Dettlaff was right there, sleeping peacefully across from him. Regis shuffled closer to the other vampire, tucked his head beneath Dettlaff’s chin, and rather than linger on death, and on how violent and cruel humanity could be, he forced himself to think instead on the soft curves of his blood-brother’s face, the warmth and safety brought by the arms that wrapped around Regis, and eventually he managed to drift back to sleep.

* * *

The days passed, one blurring into the next. They did not have a view of the sky in their little crypt, and so Regis had no knowledge of how time passed, but he knew that he slowly grew stronger. He could probably risk a brief jaunt outside the crypt now, at least with Dettlaff accompanying him, and while part of him wanted to see the sky again, the rest wanted to stay curled up inside the crypt with Dettlaff for as long as he possibly could. He did not want to face the outside world again, where there was such cruelty and conflict. Inside the crypt everything was safe and warm and smelled of Dettlaff.

He could not get enough of Dettlaff in those days. He wanted to touch him at all times; to run his mouth over Dettlaff’s skin and taste him, to press up against him until there was absolutely no space left between them.

Later, Regis would think that in such an environment, a change in the nature of their relationship was inevitable.

The day when such a change happened did not seem all that different to any other. The katakans had been kind enough to bring Regis a few books, although their taste in literature left much to be desired. Considering that most of them could not even read, Regis considered the fact that they had brought tomes in the correct language a small miracle in and of itself. He had been curled up for some time,  occupying himself by reading a rather fanciful and erotic romance staring a duke and a Skelligan shield-maiden, when Dettlaff sat down on the nest right behind him.

Now that Regis was doing better Dettlaff had taken to leaving their crypt every so often. He was never gone for very long. Mostly he went hunting or visited the nearest settlement of dwarves in order to trade with them and gather news of the outside world. At other times he did not tell Regis where he had been, and Regis never pried.

Dettlaff had only been gone for what must have been several hours this time, but Regis found that he had missed his blood-brother greatly.

Dettlaff’s arms encircled Regis’s waist, his blood-brother’s chin coming to rest on Regis’s shoulder. Regis placed the book down on the floor. It wasn’t as though he had been really invested in it anyway, and was glad to focus instead on the wonderful feeling of being reunited with Dettlaff.

He pressed back against his blood-brother’s chest, wanting to feel every ounce of his skin. It was not a sexual need, at least not at first. He just wanted to be as close to Dettlaff as he possibly could, to press up against him until there was no space at all between them, and he was Dettlaff and Dettlaff was him and…

(Just one heart… just one… blood joined as one… no more space between…)

It was a completely ridiculous thought, one that Regis knew neither of them would have had if it wasn’t for the bond between them. It didn’t help that part of him was craving Dettlaff’s blood. He realized then that more than anything he wanted to sink his fangs into Dettlaff’s neck or shoulder and drink until every empty corner of his body was filled with nothing but Dettlaff.

To his surprise Dettlaff let out a groan, an unmistakably carnal groan that sent Regis’s blood straight to his groin.

Two strong arms wrapped around Regis’s waist and pulled him closer, close enough that Regis could feel the other vampire’s erection pressing at his backside. Dettlaff let out another groan and bucked against Regis, and Regis could think of no reason to stop him, although he did not even think about it for very long.

It was all too easy to give into the other man’s touch, to let skilled, strong hands run over his bare stomach and chest as Dettlaff whispered all sorts of loving nonsense in Regis’s ears. Dettlaff nuzzled into Regis’s neck before letting out a low growl that did not sound even the least bit human.

Regis’s heart hammered in his chest and he threw his head back to nuzzle against Dettlaff’s own. The other man’s touch was bliss itself, the thought of an actual coupling enough to make his head spin. Already any semblance of either of them being human had disappeared, long claws and fangs extending and throats emitting howls and groans that revealed more of their pleasure than words ever could.

Soon Dettlaff’s hands were on his hips, lifting him up and then guiding him back to where Dettlaff could impale him. Regis howled as a searing pain joined the bliss he had felt. Vampires, as a rule, did not restrict their sexual encounters to one gender as humans did, but Regis had very rarely slept with men, and had only allowed a few select others to enter him as Dettlaff did then.

(I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…) Dettlaff’s feelings echoed across to him, along with an immediate ceasing of anything approaching thrusting and a series of gentle nuzzles and caresses.

“It’s all right,” Regis replied after a moment. “Keep going. Please.”

“Don’t want to hurt you,” Dettlaff replied, his voice so bestial and so smothered by the fact that his face was still buried in Regis’s shoulder that it took Regis a moment to understand what it was that his blood-brother had said.

“Want to make you feel good,” Dettlaff insisted, a little more clearly this time. His clawed hands pressed more insistently into Regis’s hips.

“Please…” Regis whimpered.

It might not be something that he was used to, but he found that he wanted it, craved it almost as much as he did Dettlaff’s blood… wanted to feel Dettlaff inside of him one way or another.

He rolled his hips and pressed back against Dettlaff, which made the other vampire howl. A second roll of his hips saw Dettlaff’s resistance crumble completely. Before long his hands were clutching Regis tightly as his hips thrust up and down, his erection plunging deep within Regis’s arse and then sliding back out, only to repeat the process again and again and again…

Regis writhed and cried out and howled and pressed back against Dettlaff, at least when Dettlaff’s tight hold on him allowed it. Before long the pain was completely forgotten as his entire body became awash with pleasure…

(Pleasure… pleasure… so much pleasure… multiplied ten-fold as it echoed backwards and forwards between them through their bond… so good… so good so goodsogoodsomuchpleasure…)

Dettlaff was so close to him. So close that he was inside him. He couldn’t get any closer unless…

One of Dettlaff’s arms shifted up so that it wrapped around Regis’s shoulders rather than held on to his waist, almost as though Dettlaff had been able to read his mind and was trying to make Regis’s desire easier to accomplish.

Regis leaned down, grasping the arm in one of his own hands and nuzzling the flesh there, letting his teeth scrape gently against the other vampire’s skin, warning him of what was about to happen and giving him plenty of time to object.

Dettlaff just let out another groan before his thrusting grew harder and deeper, almost as though he was encouraging Regis.

Regis nuzzled his blood-brother’s arm for a moment longer before sinking his fangs into the flesh. Dettlaff lifted his arm a little so that the blood flowed steadily into Regis’s mouth, flooding him with yet another source of pleasure and delight.

He wished that he believed in any of the human gods, so that he might call on them now. It was so good. So very good. It was more than simple sexual pleasure. More than anything he had felt before. Dettlaff was inside him and Dettlaff was  _inside_  of him, the two of them joined more closely than he had even been with another being before. He howled and lost himself in joy and pleasure so intense and which lasted for so long that he didn’t even know when it was that he came, but surely he must have, because the next thing he was properly aware of was Dettlaff pulling out of him, and there was something warm and sticky on his stomach and legs, and sliding over the place between his legs as Dettlaff pulled out.

He whimpered at the loss. Dettlaff removed his arm from in front of Regis’s mouth and Regis whimpered at that as well. He chased after the retreating limb, licking the last few spilled drops from a series of small puncture wounds that were already beginning to heal over.

Dettlaff sighed happily and lay back in their nest, slowly pulling Regis down to lay alongside him, his front pressed to Regis’s back just as it had been while they made love. He then spent a long time nuzzling against Regis’s neck then, and gently running his fangs across his skin; not hard enough that the skin ever broke; just enough that Regis could feel them there. They were not kisses, but they were close.

It was pure bliss.

* * *

Neither of them were particularly surprised that their relationship had evolved into a carnal one along with everything else. After all, simply being around one another brought them a certain amount of pleasure now, as though they had found the other half of their souls without even realizing that they were missing.

The transition was not always a smooth one however.

“You desire…” Regis paused, knowing what Dettlaff was imagining and trying not to be disgusted by the idea.

It was difficult for a vampire to give their lover oral pleasure, mostly because of the rather obvious drawbacks that having sharp fangs brought to the process. It was, of course, possible, if a higher vampire maintained a completely human form throughout the endeavor, but maintaining such a form took a certain amount of effort. Regis much preferred to enjoy physical contact in a form that was much closer to his natural one, so that he could completely lose himself in pleasure and in indulging his lover without having to worry about whether or not his fangs or claws were going to suddenly ruin the moment.

“Rhen would do it for me,” Dettlaff commented, his eyes glazing over.

Rhena again. Oh yes, Regis had heard so much about Dettlaff’s beloved Rhena. He could not bring himself to hate the woman though, not when his blood-brother loved her so much, and when she had clearly brought Dettlaff so much joy, at least until cruel fate had snatched her away from him.

Regis swallowed nervously and glanced down at Dettlaff’s now insistent erection. He had never found the idea appealing, but he supposed that if his blood-brother really wanted it then he could suffer through it, at least for a while.

He sighed, resigned himself to at least a few minutes of displeasure in the name of his love for Dettlaff, and had just begun to move further down Dettlaff’s body when a hand tangled in his hair and stopped him rather abruptly.

“You don’t have to,” Dettlaff said. “Don’t ever think that you have to just because it’s something I want.”

Regis hadn’t realized how tense he had been until suddenly all of the tension was being released. He wanted to give Dettlaff pleasure, he truly did, but…

Dettlaff’s eyes caught his own and Regis found his breath catching in his throat. The hand was still tangled in Regis’s hair and he let it guide him further up his blood-brother’s body until he could rest his head on the other man’s chest.

He sighed happily and nuzzled into him, feeling Dettlaff’s hands wrap around his shoulders and pull him close. Dettlaff shuffled and squirmed underneath him, until they bodies were aligned once more in a way that meant Dettlaff could rest his head on top of Regis’s own. Dettlaff let out a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper and put Regis in mind of a sleepy hound, and then reached both of his hands up to delicately caress Regis’s ears, clawed hands tracing over the curves and tips in a way that seemed just as intimate and even more tender than anything Regis might have done with his mouth and Dettlaff’s erection.

Regis sighed happily and tucked his head more tightly beneath Dettlaff’s chin.

“I love you,” he muttered.

The words did not seem at all sufficient to convey what he was feeling. They were too simple, too trite and overused, but he did not think there was a word in any human tongue that would work better.

Dettlaff did not reply, at least not with words. His hands continued to caress Regis’s ears, and then his neck, until Regis fell asleep curled against his blood-brother’s chest, while their hearts echoed sweet sensations back and forth to one another.

(Peace… Pure, unrestrained bliss… Never want to leave you… Wish this could last forever…Love you…Love this… So safe and happy… Love you…Lovelovelovelovelove…)

* * *

It was everything that Regis had never known he wanted. He gave himself over completely to Dettlaff, to love and pleasure and unrestrained joy. As far as he was concerned, the rest of the world with its politics and violence and treachery could go to hell. He would stay in their crypt, where it was safe and warm, where every so often he could feed from Dettlaff without feeling any guilt, and where they could make love to each other with abandon.

It was not as though Dettlaff had any objections. If anything he seemed to like the idea of Regis staying put in the crypt until he was fully healed even more than Regis did. Any time that Regis voiced aloud the thought that he might venture outside the crypt and visit the dwarves with Dettlaff, his blood-brother pressed him back down into their nest, sometimes with a gentle kiss (which had taken some getting used to, but which Regis had now come to love) or with a gentle nip on the shoulder.

“Stay,” Dettlaff always told him. “Regenerate. You will be better soon, and then you can join me whenever you like.”

It was hard to argue with that. A few more years curled up in the crypt seemed like absolute bliss, especially when compared to Regis’s previous experience with regeneration. He would happily stay until he was back to his old strength if that was what Dettlaff wanted.

And then one day his blood-brother simply disappeared. Nothing had seemed particularly unusual about him on that day. In fact he had seemed to be in quite a good mood when he had left the crypt.

It was not Dettlaff’s absence that worried Regis. After all, what was a few weeks to someone who was going to conceivably live for thousands more? No, it was the frantic, aching worry that he had felt leaking back across the bond not long after Dettlaff had left. Regis did not think that his blood-brother was physically injured in any way, yet he was still clearly in pain.

Regis tried to reach across their bond, to comfort Dettlaff and call the other vampire to him, but Dettlaff pushed him away and made it as hard as possible for Regis to track him down.

(No… No… I don’t want you to see me like this. Don’t want you to get involved in this. This isn’t your problem… Don’t want you getting hurt as well…)

Nothing that Regis felt over the bond gave him any comfort. If anything it convinced him that he desperately needed to track Dettlaff down and help him. Despite everything inside of him that told him that staying inside the crypt until Dettlaff came back to him was the smarter choice, he resolved to finally venture outside.

The first time he tried he discovered it was day time. The sun was cruel and harsh, and so he shrunk back inside the crypt, and waited several hours before trying again. He would have to train himself to be able to withstand sunlight again, which was not a prospect he was looking forward to, but one that he would gladly suffer if it meant tracking Dettlaff down and helping him with whatever had been causing him so much pain and grief.

Regis eventually made it as far as Toussaint, where he began to hear disturbing rumors about a horrible beast that preyed on the local knights. It couldn’t be Dettlaff. Regis refused to believe that his blood-brother, who was always so peaceful and loving, had committed the horrible deeds that had so shocked the humans of Toussaint, but all evidence indicated that he had.

Regis had hoped that tracking Dettlaff down would be easy. Surely his blood-brother would miss him and would respond to his calling; would rush to Regis’s side, but Dettlaff side of the bond was mostly silent; shut off to him in a way that Regis had not even realized was possible. The search was going to take longer than he had thought, and these days Regis was easily exhausted.

Regis set up a temporary home for himself in a mostly abandoned crypt a short journey from Beauclair. The crypt was small and dusty, but as he only intended to stay for a short time he did not mind. The days wore on though. It was easier to rest up and make himself at home in the crypt than it was to find a blood-brother who did not want to be found.

Regis ventured into Toussaint whenever his strength would allow him, but his lack of progress was disheartening, and he always returned to the crypt feeling as though he had accomplished nothing. Regis sent ravens out to search for his blood-brother, but they never brought him any news more concrete than that which Regis had been able to gather for himself. Still he kept them close at hand, hoping that one day one of them would report that they had spotted his blood-brother and could lead Regis to him.

* * *

As the days wore on his home in the crypt began to look less like the temporary space he had intended it to be. A set of shelves that had originally been used to store funeral urns and embalming tools was emptied and repurposed as a home for all the books that Regis had either dragged with him from their old home in the Blue Mountains, or had somehow managed to accumulate since coming to Toussaint. He found himself purchasing alchemy equipment as well, making potions either to aid in his own recovery or to sell to the people of Toussaint, if only so that he had something to occupy him that wasn’t worrying about Dettlaff.

There was no Dettlaff though, and Regis felt that absence as a giant hole in his heart that no amount of books or alchemy equipment could fill.

There was no nest. He knew without even creating one that it would feel too large and too empty without another to share it. Instead he slept, as he often had before his bond with Dettlaff had been forged, in a more human fashion; in a bedroll on the floor, and tried, every night as he fell asleep, to ignore the very real and very tangible absence of his blood-brother. He never succeeded, and always fell asleep with a heavy heart.

'Where are you?' he often wondered as he drifted asleep. 'What could have possibly happened to make you abandon me in such a manner? You are in trouble, aren’t you Dettlaff?'

He had no idea whether Dettlaff could sense his worries, and if he could, whether they affected him at all.

* * *

Things became much more complicated and urgent when Regis discovered that a witcher had been called to take care of the Beast of Beauclair. That was what they were calling it now; this monster who was probably the blood-brother Regis had come to care so strongly for.

Regis cared greatly for Geralt as well. It would not, in fact, be much of a stretch to claim that he loved the man, on a purely platonic level of course. Despite the witcher’s profession, Regis had found that Geralt could be incredibly thoughtful, intelligent and compassionate, if a little prone towards brooding and self-pity. Regis did not want to be put in any situation in which they were forced to fight one another, but it seemed as though he might not have any choice if Geralt was to eliminate Dettlaff as he had promised.

There came a night when Regis felt Dettlaff’s fear and hatred so strongly across the bond that it startled him. It was as though the wall separating the two of them had suddenly been torn down. Regis knew that, for the first time, he actually stood a chance of tracking Dettlaff down.

(Leave me alone… Leave me in peace! Not a monster! Not a monster… I don’t want to kill but I will… Leave me in peace! Go away!)

When he found Dettlaff he was already in the middle of a fight with Geralt. Regis could not predict which one of them was more likely to win, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stand to watch either of them die, and so he threw himself right in the middle of the fight, just in time to feel Dettlaff’s clawed arm plunge through his torso.

The shock of it, the pain echoing across the bond, combined with Dettlaff’s realization of what it was that he had just done…

(What was Regis doing there… he had… he had hurt his blood-brother… how could he have ever hurt his blood-brother… how could he ever hurt Regis... how could he… how could he… howcouldhehewasnothingmorethanamonsterafterall… he didn’t deserve Regis…)

…made all three of them come to an abrupt halt. What had already been pain and confusion and guilt from Dettlaff’s side of the bond turned into full-blown panic and self-hatred.

Regis’s blood-brother disappeared before Regis could say any more than a few words to him, and that had only been a plea for Geralt’s life. A plea which, thankfully, Dettlaff listened to.

* * *

Regis knew that it would be even harder to find Dettlaff after that incident. Dettlaff had been avoiding him already, without the extreme guilt he now felt over injuring Regis. Try as Dettlaff might, he could not completely hide the pain that echoed across the bond to Regis.

(No no no no no no… Nothing but a monster after all… How could you… How could you… You don’t deserve him… You don’t deserve to even look at him… You monster… But you have to… You have to do this… You monster… You don’t deserve either of them…)

Regis knew that Dettlaff would not allow Regis to find him; not after what had happened. All Regis wanted to do was track down his blood-brother and help him with whatever had hurt him so badly. None of it made any sense.

But Dettlaff would not provide him with any answers, and so Regis turned instead to the old friend that he had missed; the old friend who had, despite everything, managed to survive after all, the old friend who had been hired to kill Regis’s blood-brother. After all, Geralt of Rivia might have been part of the human world, but he was not mindless or as full of hate as those that he worked for, and while Regis was not sure why Dettlaff was murdering people, he knew that there had to be more to the story than anyone in Toussaint yet knew. With any luck, Regis could convince Geralt to spare Dettlaff as well.

* * *

Dettlaff’s side of the bond was nothing but a string of pain and self-hatred for days. It hurt, and Regis wondered what his blood-brother could sense from him. Undoubtedly Regis had been projecting nothing but worry for a long time now; ever since Dettlaff had gotten himself caught up in whatever this was.

He knew beyond a doubt that he had to find Dettlaff now; to save him from whatever it was that had twisted him and put him through so much pain. Regis and Geralt pooled their resources in an effort to find Dettlaff, and between Regis’s knowledge and Geralt’s skills as a witcher (and a little bit of luck) they had soon concocted a way to track down Dettlaff.

It was not going to be pleasant for Regis. Not at all. He did not mention this fact to Geralt however, not until their plan was almost complete. He knew that the witcher would object, but Geralt could not know how important Dettlaff was to Regis, or how badly Regis needed to track down his kin and save him.

The concoction in question would allow Geralt to peek into Dettlaff’s memories. One of the key ingredients however, would be Regis’s blood, and not just his normal blood, but blood that had been stirred up by rage and pain and desperation to a mad fever pitch. There was only one sure way that Regis could think of to bring his own blood to such a state.

Regis had not tasted any blood except Dettlaff’s for years. He had managed to resist the temptation. In order to get Dettlaff back he was willing to be tempted once more; to taste of it, to crave it, and to turn into the horrible beast that he knew he became when that terrible drug held sway over him.

He spent the hours leading up to it hoping that Geralt might fail in his side of the preparations, or that the witcher would simply fail to show. He tried to think of any possible answer, any possible substitute for his own agitated blood, but none existed. He called out to Dettlaff countless times over those hours, praying that his blood-brother would show, despite all odds, and so eradicate the need for such drastic measures.

“Please,” he muttered to the silence. “Dettlaff, please… Come to me. I don’t want to do this. All I want to do is help you… Please…”

But Dettlaff did not come. Every day that they had spent apart Regis could feel the bond between them growing slowly weaker. It would never be gone. No matter what happened it would always be there, tying them to one another, filling up half of Regis’s heart and soul. He just wished that Dettlaff’s half had not been made almost entirely of darkness and pain.

* * *

Pain. Pain. So much pain. So much need. So much anger. He couldn’t contain it anymore. He wanted… He needed…

But this time no relief came. Just a simple jab that slowly erased the pain and need with another, smaller, sharper pain and made Regis collapse in exhaustion. He dreamed that it was Dettlaff’s arms that caught him. It was not.

Instead it was Geralt, the witcher, the one who might still take Regis’s blood-brother away from him, who caught Regis and stopped him from falling to the ground.

“Dettlaff…” Regis murmured. He did not know if Geralt heard him. He was certain that Dettlaff did not. He could not sense anything over the bond at that moment. His own pain and need had drowned everything else out.

* * *

Thankfully, the concoction worked.

* * *

Together Regis and Geralt tracked Dettlaff to an abandoned toy store in the middle of Toussaint. Regis marveled at the place, at the love and care that had gone into the creation of so many of the toys. He lingered on each one, and on the letters that he and Geralt found littered around the shop. Regis did not think that the toy store and all of the products within had originally belonged to Dettlaff, but they certainly did now. Dettlaff had been making toys for children who could not afford them, and giving them away for free.

Regis wondered how long it had been going on; how many times Dettlaff’s trips ‘to visit the dwarves’ had masked something so much more beautiful and sentimental. Why had he felt the need to hide this from Regis? It was so kind, so thoughtful, so very _Dettlaff_ that Regis felt his heart break a little bit more as he picked up each of the forgotten toys.

He and Geralt soon learned the truth. It came to them in the form of a letter hidden inside a chest in the upper floor of the abandoned toy store. Someone had Dettlaff’s beloved Rhena in their clutches and was using her to manipulate Dettlaff; threatening to hurt Rhena should Dettlaff refuse to obey their instructions. Dettlaff had killed his victims; had become the Beast of Beauclair, all in the name of protecting his beloved.

And with that letter whatever was left of Regis’s heart shattered completely.

* * *

Regis waited upstairs, in a corner of the old, dusty toy store, hoping that his mate would soon show. For a vampire to crawl inside another’s home as he had with Dettlaff’s toy store would have been unforgivable were he not Dettlaff’s blood-brother, especially considering the lengths Dettlaff had gone to in order to keep him away.

Come to think of it, could he claim that he was Dettlaff’s mate anymore? They would always be blood-brothers. Nothing could ever take that away from them, but despite the times they had lain together, they had never discussed the more romantic and sexual aspects of their relationship. They belonged to one another. That knowledge had always seemed to be enough.

Regis’s thoughts swirled around in his mind as he waited. Not for the first time he found himself wishing that he knew another bonded vampire with whom he might discuss his bond with Dettlaff. He wished that he could know for sure that Geralt would never attempt to kill his friend again. He thought about what he would do to the horrible people who were twisting his beloved Dettlaff into something so monstrous, and causing him to feel so much pain, and then found himself wondering why humanity always insisted on reminding him of how horrible they could be. He wished, not for the first time, that he could stop thinking for a while.

He knew that Dettlaff would be able to sense him as he approached the building; there was no way that he couldn’t. He tried to send out a call of longing and of comfort, hoping that it would stop his blood-brother from fleeing.

“Please,” he murmured into the void, hoping that it would reach Dettlaff. “Please, I need to see you.”

He suspected that the plea might have been a little too strong, a little more needy than he had originally expected (and yet there had been nothing untrue about it) because Dettlaff was instantly moving closer, entering the toy store and making his way upstairs.

He approached Regis, who had found a crate to sit on that was just as old and dusty as anything else in the theoretically abandoned building.

“What are you doing here?” Dettlaff asked. 

Regis could tell that his blood-brother was scared, and confused, and angry, although his anger seemed to be directed more at himself than at Regis.

“Why do you think I’m here Dettlaff?” Regis replied, a little less calmly than he had originally intended. “Did you really think that you could run away from me forever? You were the one who forged this bond. Don’t tell me you don’t realize how bloody worried I’ve been over the last few months!”

Dettlaff was silent for a moment. He just stood there, his head hung low in shame as Regis glared at him.

“I hurt you,” Dettlaff finally murmured, and Regis sighed loudly.

“I’ve been through a lot worse,” he replied. He made no mention of the fact that Dettlaff had not intended to hurt him. Neither of them would consider that a valid excuse.

Dettlaff hesitated, and Regis realized there was still a chance that his blood-brother would choose to flee, and if he did Regis was not sure that he would be able to find him again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dettlaff spoke again. “It doesn’t matter how much pain you’ve been through before now.”

(Anger… This is all wrong… Regis was never supposed to get hurt… He was trying to do good… Guilt…whydiditalwaysgowronglikethis… He was supposed to _protect_ Regis.)

That final pang across the bond manifested itself as a blast of possessiveness and a protective instinct so strong that Regis was almost blown away by it. It was fierce, it was overly possessive, and yet Regis had missed it so damned much.

“You should not have to suffer because of me,” Dettlaff said. “I will not allow it.”

He reached out, as though seeking Regis’s touch, but then quickly withdrew his hand.

(No… You don’t deserve him, remember? Don’t deserve to touch him or even be in the same room as him… Don’t deserve his kindness or his sympathy…)

Regis sighed and got to his feet, crossing the distance between the two of them in a few short steps. Thankfully Dettlaff did not retreat as Regis had feared he might, and the other vampire allowed Regis to reach out and gently place a hand on either side of Dettlaff’s face. He pulled Dettlaff towards him, pressing their foreheads together, and consequently felt so much of the tension in his blood-brother’s body immediately vanish.

“I would suffer for your sake whether you will allow it or not,” Regis said, smiling despite himself. He did not know why he was smiling. In fact he felt as though he might be about to cry.

“I cannot find peace when I know you are in so much pain,” Regis continued. “Please. I want to help you.”

Dettlaff nodded, and as their foreheads were still pressed together the movement soon turned into a gentle nuzzling. Dettlaff pulled back then and stared at him with wide, fearful eyes, and Regis realized there was still a chance that his blood-brother would flee completely.

“I thought…” he murmured, still clearly confused by something. “You were angry. I felt it. Angry… In pain… I thought…?”

The whole thing with Geralt and the cage, and the blood… Regis had known that Dettlaff would have felt it, but had not anticipated that Dettlaff might believe he was the cause of it.

“Hush beloved,” Regis said as he pulled Dettlaff close once more, his nose brushing against Dettlaff’s cheek, the other vampire’s smell, only slightly tainted with hints of fear and sorrow, breathed in greedily as though Regis needed it to survive.

“I was not angry with you.”

He would not say that it was not Dettlaff’s fault. Indirectly it was. If Dettlaff had simply allowed Regis to assist him then he would not have been forced to resort to such drastic measures.

“Then what happened?” Dettlaff asked, and there was a growl in his voice and a rapid extending of his claws. “Who hurt you?”

Regis had little doubt that if Dettlaff had discovered someone had hurt Regis then they would soon find themselves having to explain themselves to the Beast of Beauclair. Dettlaff was not violent by nature, but he did tend to lose control of himself where his loved ones were concerned.

Regis then told Dettlaff everything he and Geralt had done in order to track Dettlaff down. Over the years of their kinship Regis had been given plenty of time to regale his blood-brother with tales of Geralt and the rest of his company, so Dettlaff knew how much Regis trusted and cared about Geralt, just as Regis knew all about Dettlaff’s love for Rhena.

Dettlaff’s hands came to rest on Regis’s hips as he spoke, and they both found their bodies slowly drifting close to one another until they were pressing against one another in as many places as possible. There was nothing sexual about their touching, and nor would there be this time. Instead it remained reassurance and familiarity and safety and home.

“I read the letter,” Regis eventually told Dettlaff. “I understand why you’re doing this now and you should know that I don’t blame you. I’m not so sure I wouldn’t do the same if someone had taken…”

He almost said ‘you’, quickly realized there was no-one else in his life that Regis had loved with the same passion that Dettlaff loved Rhena and then trailed off into silence. He may not have said the actual word, but he had a feeling Dettlaff could still tell what it was that he had wanted to say.

Regis gently tangled one of his hands in Dettlaff’s hair. At that moment they both appeared completely human, and Regis found himself wondering what it might be like to kiss the other vampire properly.

He ended up compromising by pressing a kiss to Dettlaff’s cheek. The other vampire let out a sigh and finally lifted his gaze so that his eyes met Regis’s own. Regis was blown away by the sight. He knew that Dettlaff had gorgeous eyes, of a shade as blue and cold as ice in winter, had always know it, and yet in that moment he felt like he was truly seeing them for the first time. They were one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

“Please let me help you,” Regis muttered.

Dettlaff immediately looked away again.

“Please,” Regis said, moving his head forward again so that he could nuzzle against Dettlaff’s once more. “Please; between you and me and Geralt I am sure that we can come up with a better solution than this. We can find a way to save Rhena without you needing to kill any more innocent men.”

There were no more demands from Dettlaff; no asking for promises or reassurances. He simply moved his arms up to envelop Regis in the tightest, most desperate embrace imaginable.

“All right,” Dettlaff replied, while his side of the bond pulsed with worry.

(Please do not get hurt any more than you already have… Please be safe…)

* * *

Things should have gone well then. With Regis, Dettlaff and Geralt all working together everything should have been cleared up. The villains who had stolen Dettlaff’s beloved away should have gotten what was coming to them, and Dettlaff and Rhena should have been reunited happily.

But life, in Regis’s experience, was never that simple or kind, and it lived down to his expectations. Rhena, the woman that Dettlaff had given his heart to, proved to be the one behind the entire scheme; the one who had broken Regis’s kind, gentle blood-brother and forced him to become a violent beast.

At first Dettlaff responded with disbelief. The truth was simply too monstrous for him to accept.

Regis knew the exact moment when the truth hit home. He could feel Dettlaff’s heart shattering into a thousand tiny, sharp-edged pieces, almost as though it was a physical pain. There was little doubt in Regis’s mind that Dettlaff would have killed for Rhena had she only asked him; after all, Dettlaff loved like a raging, red hot fire, ferociously and without mercy; yet instead Rhena… no… Syanna, had lied to him, manipulated him like a puppet on a string, turning his fierce love into a twisted, horrible thing.

Regis was not sure he had ever hated anyone so instantly or with such ferocity before that moment.

Dettlaff flew into a rage, charging at Syanna and holding her up against the wall with one clawed hand that wrapped tightly around her neck. Dettlaff’s emotions were a frenzied mix of rage and heartache and love and confusion, and for a moment Regis wondered which part of him was going to win out.

He had faith in his blood-brother though; knew that Dettlaff _was not_ the violent beast that Syanna had tried to turn him into. Of course, if Dettlaff wanted to murder this woman then he would be well within his rights as far as Regis was concerned. He did not like seeing people die for no good reason, but after what Syanna had done to Dettlaff, after how much she had hurt him and how many people she had prompted Dettlaff to murder, Regis was half tempted to take care of the viper himself.

Dettlaff’s side of the bond was still nothing more than a jumbled mess of rage and heartache, but the more sensible, sane part of him eventually won out and he let Syanna go. Regis supposed it was a good sign. Dettlaff did not want to hurt his beloved Rhena. Despite how much she had twisted him and hurt him, she had not managed to completely remove all that was good in him.

“You will come to Tesham Mutna and explain all,” Dettlaff told the human woman. “If you do not, I will raze Beauclair to the ground. This I promise you.”

(…I’m not a monster… I’m not… You might want me to be, but I’m not…)

Hate, but tempered by love, or at least the echo of it. Regis wished that he could comfort Dettlaff, but there would be no comforting him then. Dettlaff’s mind was full of Rhena. There was no room for him then, not at that moment.

“You’ve three days,” Dettlaff said as he moved to the window. “I shall be waiting.”

And with that Dettlaff was gone, flying out of the window and turning into mist. Regis contemplated following him, but only for a moment. Dettlaff needed solitude and time to think. He did not need Regis coming after him like a needy child. He did not want Regis coming after him. Regis could sense that much at least.

Regis did not think his blood-brother’s demand was particularly unrealistic, but unfortunately it was not his call to make. Later he would think to himself that it might have been better for everyone involved if Dettlaff had not shown so much mercy and restraint and just killed Syanna then and there.

* * *

Three days. Three days during which Regis knew Dettlaff would not allow himself to be found. Not again.

Still he and Geralt tried, although Regis for one was all for giving up and letting Dettlaff deal with Rhena… no, Syanna… however he deemed necessary. To his surprise Syanna had even agreed with this assessment.

It seemed like a simple request. Syanna needed to present herself to him, to answer for her crimes. Regis did not know what Dettlaff would do to her, but even if he judged that Syanna deserved death, surely it would be better that she die rather than the hundreds that might perish should Syanna fail to show.

Her duchess sister refused to give her up however, kept her caged, unable to respond to Dettlaff’s demands no matter how much she might have wanted to answer them.

And Regis was left with nothing but echoes across the bond. None of what he sensed was pleasant. Dettlaff hated himself, hated Syanna, hated the whole world and everything in it, and with every hour that passed without Syanna presenting herself to him, that hatred grew.

Three days passed. Syanna did not appear at Tesham Mutna. Regis’s heart, or Dettlaff’s heart (he didn’t know which one hurt more at this stage) broke just that little bit more, and hell was unleashed on Beauclair in the form of hundreds of sets of fangs and claws that tore at human flesh and left chaos in their wake.

Regis’s bond with Dettlaff was nothing but pain anymore. At least part of them wanted to die, and Regis was not sure anymore whether that pain came from him or from Dettlaff.

* * *

So much blood. So much pain. So much confusion, and in the midst of it all, somehow, Geralt had managed to bring Syanna to Tesham Mutna. Regis knew that it was too late however. Someone would die this night, one way or another. Regis tried to convince himself that it would not be Dettlaff. He hoped that it would not be Dettlaff. Despite how much pain his blood-brother was in, he did not want to be forced to live without Dettlaff.

He missed their crypt in the Blue Mountains. He missed warm embraces and the smell of their nest and long conversations with Dettlaff’s katakan friends. He missed the taste of Dettlaff’s blood, of gentle kisses on tired skin, of not knowing where he ended and Dettlaff began.

He hated what Toussaint had turned them into. Hated Syanna and her sister the duchess, hated what they had twisted his blood-brother into, and even hated himself for being unable to stop the bloodshed in Toussaint’s streets.

More than anything else, he just wanted it all to end.

He accompanied Geralt and Syanna to Tesham Mutna, knowing that he might still need to step in and stop Geralt and Dettlaff from killing one another, despite the witcher’s promise that he would spare Dettlaff if at all possible.

Regis was not sure that he was actually relieved when Dettlaff eventually showed himself. The fact that Syanna had not shown herself until after the killing had already started would not have done her any favors. Regis, of course, knew that the decision had not been hers, but he also knew that trying to convince Dettlaff of that fact would not work; not with how much his blood-brother was still suffering.

Regis could sense the rage behind his blood-brother’s actions; knew what Dettlaff was going to do a moment before he did it. So much passion and rage and heartache needed to be expelled from the body one way or another after all. 

He could have stepped in and saved the girl. He knew that he could have. Heavens knew he had moved that quickly plenty of times before; most recently when it had been Geralt facing down Dettlaff instead of Syanna. 

But he didn’t. He just stood back and let it happen; let his blood-brother murder the woman he had loved for so very long; the woman who had treated Dettlaff’s heart like nothing more than a plaything; a tool that she could manipulate and twist to her own desires.

Yes, he watched Dettlaff murder someone he had once loved and did not do a thing to stop him. Oh, later he might try to convince himself and Geralt that there had not been enough time; that there was nothing either of them could have done, but Regis knew that it was a lie.

Beside him Geralt cried out in shock. Regis maintained silence.

Syanna’s body… Rhena’s body… fell to the floor, blood streaming out of the spot where Dettlaff’s claws had penetrated her chest. Her death was at least a quick, relatively painless one. The same could not be said for the men she had manipulated Dettlaff into murdering.

Dettlaff’s grief did not lessen. The primal rage inside of him had been sated. His heart had not.

Up until that moment Dettlaff had still been managing to suppress most of the emotion that had been flowing across the bond, but with Rhena’s death it was as though the dam broke, and Regis nearly stumbled under the torrent of heartache that flooded across him.

Everything that they had been through, everything that he had thought he and Dettlaff had shared, meant nothing in the face of such grief. Regis wanted, as he had since this whole mess had started, to comfort Dettlaff, but there was no more strength and hope left inside him. Their bond and Dettlaff’s grief had stripped all of that away.

“What have you done?” Regis muttered.

Syanna’s death had fixed nothing; nothing at all. They were both still in so much pain. The pain had changed, now tinged more with grief and heartache than with betrayal, but it certainly had not grown any easier to bear.

“What I had to,” Dettlaff replied, managing to speak despite the pain and grief that must have been threatening to overwhelm him at any moment. “What she deserved.”

Dettlaff believed what he was saying, but that did not mean that the words lessened his grief. He had done what he had set out to do, but there was no satisfaction there. None at all.

“Beauclair will know peace once more,” Dettlaff continued. “The vampires will have left the city by dawn. I shall leave as well. Go far away. Far from men.”

Regis could not blame him. Why would Dettlaff ever want to stay in Toussaint when this place had brought him nothing but pain? Geralt however still stood in his way, the witcher’s sword drawn. Regis was pulled from his… no, Dettlaff’s, grief, momentarily by the realization that this could all still go so very wrong. Geralt and Dettlaff might still attack one another. Regis just hoped that he could stop them.

“You can try to stand in my way,” Dettlaff said, staring straight at Geralt as he did. “Then I shall kill you both, though that is not at all my will.”

Dettlaff turned towards Regis as he finished speaking, the last part of his message clearly intended for Regis more than for Geralt. Regis wished that he could believe that Dettlaff was just bluffing. After all, Dettlaff would never hurt him. He would never…

But the bond was nothing but pain and rage and hatred; hatred for themselves, for one another, for the entire world. What the hell had happened to them?

(I don’t want to hurt you… But I will…)

The message echoed clearly across the bond, somehow clear beneath all of the grief and pain. Regis was not entirely sure which one of them it was coming from.

“The decision is yours,” Dettlaff said, looking to Geralt once more.

For just a moment it seemed as though the entire world fell silent and still. Surely enough blood had already been spilled that night? Surely there was a way that this could end without further tragedy.

“You can go,” Geralt said after what had seemed an age, sheathing his sword as he did.

Regis was vaguely aware of Geralt muttering something else; some sort of vague threat, but he was no longer listening. Everything sounded so distant, so muddled and confused and all Regis wanted to do was cross the few feet that stood between himself and Dettlaff, but those few feet seemed impassable in those moments; a great chasm that Regis could not cross even if he spent another four hundred years trying to do so.

Regis was called back to the conversation by the sound of Dettlaff saying his name. His name had always sounded so beautiful coming from Dettlaff’s lips, and despite everything that separated them in that moment, that fact at least had not changed.

“Farewell,” Dettlaff said, before turning and departing from Tesham Mutna and from Toussaint, perhaps forever.

* * *

Regis spent the next few weeks helping out in whatever way he could. He knew he needed to keep his mind busy unless he wanted to stop functioning altogether. He could not linger on Dettlaff; on the void of grief and pain that echoed faintly across the bond, and so he focused on other things; on trying to find closure, and on trying to find answers, both for himself and for Dettlaff, where there were none to be found.

Geralt and Regis’s failure to save Syanna’s life had seen the witcher condemned to Toussaint’s prison. Regis travelled to Novigrad to arrange for Dandelion to assist with Geralt’s release, and then returned to Toussaint.

He found answers. He found closure. They addressed the troubles of his mind, but not the ones of his heart.

The grief had grown fainter and fainter with every day that passed, but it still felt like an empty, gaping maw of darkness inside of him. Regis did not know whether Dettlaff wanted to see him, and he almost didn’t care. Regis needed to leave Toussaint as well; needed to track Dettlaff down and be with him again, even if all that waited at the end of such a journey was more heartache.

His blood-brother had spent almost a month grieving by himself. Hopefully that had been long enough that he would allow Regis to find him, and more importantly, to help him once more.

* * *

The journey was a long one by human standards, but a few months did not mean much at all to a vampire like Regis, not when compared to the goal at the end of the road. The seasons changed, and snow began to fall as Regis’s search took him further and further to the north. Dettlaff had a month long head start on Regis, and part of Regis knew that if Dettlaff truly did not want his blood-brother to find him then he might never see Dettlaff again.

It did not feel as though Dettlaff was running from him however, and eventually Regis found him on a hillside overlooking a small rocky valley. There was nothing at all in the way of human settlements in the valley or anywhere nearby for that matter, although Regis was sure that a good search of the land below would find the ruins of at least one small town.

The hillside Dettlaff stood on was covered in old, worn stones that had probably been a cemetery once upon a time, but which had become just as ruined and overgrown as anything that remained in the area. Regis wondered if Dettlaff had made a temporary home for himself in a crypt or tunnel attached to the old graveyard, and whether there might, somewhere inside, be a nest with room enough for two.

The night was clear and the moon was approaching full as Regis appeared on the hillside behind his blood-brother.

Dettlaff stood with his back to Regis, his arms folded behind him as he apparently surveyed the mostly empty valley in front of him. There was no doubt in Regis’s mind that Dettlaff had felt him approach, but his blood-brother did not turn around or even greet him.

“Dettlaff,” Regis called out quietly.

He realized then that he was scared; not of Dettlaff precisely, but rather of how Dettlaff might react to his presence. There was nothing stopping him from turning around and screaming at Regis, from demanding solitude. He would be well within his rights to do so, but Regis could not help but feel as though solitude would not be good for his blood-brother at that point in time. Dettlaff needed more, needed comfort, and he was not the only one.

“Why have you left Toussaint?” Dettlaff asked. There was a certain amount of worry there that Regis had not expected.

“I came looking for you,” Regis replied. “I’ll always come looking for you.”

Dettlaff was silent for a moment. Regis slowly approached the dark silhouette, his every step cautious. He could not work out how Dettlaff felt about his being there. The bond still provided nothing more than a never-ending stream of pain and grief and loss. The feelings were loud as well, drowning out any other emotions that might have made themselves known. Regis searched for the warmth and love and comfort that he used to feel around Dettlaff, but it had vanished. Syanna’s actions had ensured that. She had taken his beloved’s heart and ground it into dust.

“The others did not force you out?” Dettlaff asked. “They wanted to, but I asked… I asked them not to. I told them you only fought against us out of worry for myself and your witcher.”

It took Regis a moment to understand what Dettlaff was saying. He should have known that the other vampires of Toussaint would disapprove of his having helped Geralt fight against them, but with everything else that had happened, the never-ending grief and pain that distracted him more and more the closer he got to Dettlaff, he had not really had any time to worry about it.

“No-one forced me out,” Regis confirmed. “I left of my own free will.”

“To see me,” Dettlaff repeated.

“Yes,” Regis said. “I need to talk to you.” He almost added ‘and I missed you,’ but held back. He hoped that Dettlaff could feel that much across the bond, but he was not sure Dettlaff would be able to feel anything over the noise of his own grief.

“You do not approve of what I have done,” Dettlaff said. It was not a question so much as a simple fact. “You are angry with me.”

Of course. Out of the confusing storm of emotions Regis currently felt, that had to be the one Dettlaff picked up on. He supposed he should be grateful. They needed to talk about this after all. They might as well get it out of the way.

“I am angry with you for Beauclair,” Regis explained, taking another hesitant step towards Dettlaff as he did. “Not for Rhena. While I would have preferred that you had turned her over to her sister and the correct authorities for judgement, I cannot blame you for wanting to take your anger out on her. What you and the others did to Beauclair however… So many innocent humans died on that night. So many of our kind as well. None of them deserved to be caught up in all of this.”

Dettlaff was silent for a very long time. Regis waited. Part of him wanted to approach the other man; to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him that everything was going to be all right, but he could not be entirely sure that was the truth, and if there was one thing that Dettlaff despised above all others, it was deceit, even if the driving force behind said deceit was compassion.

The desire to touch was so strong that it almost manifested itself as a physical ache. Regis did not know whether it was entirely his own desire or Dettlaff’s as well. Either way they both seemed intent on denying themselves.

“If it had gone wrong,” Dettlaff began, his voice as quiet and unsure as Regis had ever heard it before. “If it had come down to either myself or your witcher, which one would you have chosen?”

Regis thought about it a moment, and then shook his head.

“I do not know,” he replied. Another truth. Always the truth. He would make sure that he gave Dettlaff that at least. “I would do everything that I could to protect you both; whatever that meant, but I suspect the end result of such a conflict would depend almost entirely on the actions of yourself and Geralt.”

Dettlaff nodded, and at last he turned around.

He wore the same cold look as he had through most of the events in Toussaint. A stranger might think that he was angry, and perhaps part of him was, but Regis knew that behind it all Dettlaff was still hurting; still very much lost and afraid and looking for a way to make sense of it all.

“What are we?” Dettlaff eventually asked. It was not a question that Regis had anticipated.

‘What are we indeed?’ thought Regis. ‘We have been friends and lovers and kin; all of it and none of it at once. I wonder if the other members of our kind who have formed such bonds found them just as confusing and nebulous. I wonder if they all loved one another before the bond or if others too have found themselves bound thanks to circumstance and desperation alone. However will we sort through this mess?’

He thought all of this, but he only said a few words.

“We are blood-brothers,” Regis said aloud. “Bound to one another.”

Regis wondered if that was enough. Dettlaff looked over at him, ice-blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight, his expression more open and vulnerable than he generally allowed it to be around anyone except Regis.

“Is that enough?” he asked.

Enough to heal the rift that Syanna’s actions had created between them? Enough that they might one day be able to forgive each other? Enough that somehow they could find a way to move past it all?

(Desperation… need… Please tell me that you’ll make it stop hurting… Please…)

Regis had to remind himself, not for the first time during that conversation, that when dealing with Dettlaff it was always, without exception, best to tell the truth.

“I hope so,” he said.

With those words it was as though the chasm that had formed between the two of them disappeared completely. Dettlaff charged towards him. Regis spread his arms wide, allowing Dettlaff to wrap his arms around Regis and cling to his blood-brother as though Regis was the only thing keeping him grounded in the world.

Dettlaff buried his face in Regis’s shoulder and screamed, the rage and grief pouring out of him. Long claws twisted in the fabric of Regis’s clothes and crept beneath them to paw desperately at the skin beneath.

Dettlaff did not say anything, and neither did Regis. Neither of them needed to. One day perhaps they would say everything they needed to with words as well. They would both apologize, and whisper words of comfort and love, but for now their desperate touches and the screaming rush of emotions that passed backwards and forwards along their bond was enough.

It had taken Dettlaff a little over three years to restore Regis’s broken body. The heart, in Regis’s experience, was a much more difficult thing to mend. It might take decades before he was able to put Dettlaff’s back together, and even then there would undoubtedly be scars.

But he was certainly going to try.

He wrapped his arms around Dettlaff’s shoulders and held him tightly as Dettlaff cried into his shoulder.

It took a while, but eventually a whisper of something that was not despair or grief made its way across the bond.

(Thank you…)

Regis smiled and leaned down to nuzzle gently against Dettlaff’s ear.

Another glimmer of something bright and beautiful.

(Love…)

The bond echoed.

(Hope…)


End file.
